


Nirvana

by Fluterbev



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Birthday Spanking, M/M, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-20
Updated: 2006-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluterbev/pseuds/Fluterbev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair gets a birthday spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nirvana

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A New Birthday Tradition at the Ellison-Sandburg Household](https://archiveofourown.org/works/184099) by [Caro Dee (Caro_Dee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro%20Dee). 



> Caro Dee challenged me to give Blair a birthday spanking, in honour of the tenth anniversary of The Sentinel, since she'd already spanked Jim. Dosed up on painkillers as I was at the time, I couldn't resist. Written in 2006.

 

The anticipation was the worst part. Or maybe it was the best - Blair could never really say for sure.

The evening had been perfect so far. Jim looked so damned classy - and Jim in a suit and tie, Blair had to admit, was one of his not so secret kinks. Jim, knowing that full well, had looked smug the moment he’d come downstairs from their bedroom earlier, which had just made Blair laugh. “You’re totally blatant, man,” Blair had accused and, in answer, Jim had pushed him hard against the wall, kissing him breathless, one leg - clad in pants with an immaculate, knife-edged crease - pushing insistently against Blair’s groin the entire time.

Blair had been on edge ever since, squirming under Jim’s hot gaze, the hard throbbing inside his own suit pants a constant torture. But he’d known from previous years that relief was some time off – they’d played this little birthday ritual out six years in a row now, ever since they’d first become lovers.

Blair both loved and hated it. But he loved it more.

They’d had a nice meal at the expensive Italian place they both liked, but tended to save for special occasions like this. The food was fantastic - cocktail di gamberi to start, followed by triglia ai ferri with salsa verde, washed down with a nice bottle of Chardonnay Varietali; which Blair drank the bulk of, since Jim was driving. And, all the while, Jim regarded Blair with a predatory intensity that took his breath away.

Despite the quality of the food, the constant, nervous fluttering in Blair’s stomach made it hard to eat much. They finished up with espresso; then, without needing to consult Blair, Jim ordered dessert – the restaurant’s trademark tiramisu – to go.

On occasion, Jim could be merciful.

They bantered back and forth as they walked across the parking lot back to the truck; a veneer of normality over surreality. But all the while, Blair felt flushed, and his heart was racing. It was oddly as though his own senses were heightened; the vibrating urgency of anticipation making the cold air on the skin of his blushing face feel like thousands of tiny needles pricking at him.

Then, in the semi-darkness beside the truck, Blair found himself pressed back against the chilled metal. “Hold still,” Jim hissed, and Blair panted in excitement, clutching Jim’s jacket in tight-fingered fists as Jim’s sure fingered hand unzipped Blair’s pants, pulling out his straining cock to expose it to the cool night air. Blair rested his head on Jim’s shoulder, enduring the tantalizing grip and the rhythmic stroking, as Jim brought him rapidly to the edge.

Then backed completely off, leaving Blair standing there unfulfilled, desperately wanting more; exposed for all to see.

Not that anyone _would_ see, of course. Jim’s _actual_ heightened senses eliminated the risk of discovery completely - Blair had absolute trust in his partner on that issue.

He couldn’t see the expression on Jim’s face in the dark, but everything Blair needed to know was there in his voice. “Zip yourself up,” Jim told him curtly, intent dripping from every word. “Get in the truck.”

It wasn’t easy to do what Jim had said, as hard and as close to orgasm as Blair was, but somehow he managed it, responding to the command and promise in Jim’s voice as though he was trained to it. He sat uncomfortably next to Jim the whole ride home, exquisitely aware of the tightness, and the throbbing, and what was to come. Neither of them spoke a word, the air between them like an approaching thunderstorm.

Back at the loft, Jim closed the door and locked up, as Blair hung up their coats. Then Blair turned, and his heart skipped a beat when he found that Jim had approached silently, and was standing right behind him with a calculating look in his face. Blair stood mesmerized as Jim put out a hand toward his face, stroking maddeningly gently down his cheek, before grasping a handful of hair in his fist and pulling Blair roughly toward him in a biting kiss.

When Jim finally let Blair go a few moments later, it was down to business. “Strip,” he ordered.

Trembling, Blair obeyed, his fingers fumbling the buttons of his shirt open. As he removed his clothes, he watched Jim walk across the room, the other man’s every step, every move, screaming mastery.

At that thought, Blair paused for a few seconds, panting hard; before he was able to resume undressing without coming on the spot.

By the time that Blair was done – and his clothes neatly folded on the kitchen counter – Jim was sitting on the couch, still fully dressed, his long legs spread apart in a confident sprawl. “Come here,” he said. The smug smile that he’d worn all night still twisted the corners of his mouth. As Blair approached obediently, he saw something coiled on the couch beside Jim; something sinuous and leathery. It seemed Jim had taken the time to remove one item of clothing after all - it was his belt.

Blair almost faltered, when he saw it. But a glance back at Jim’s face, and the question in his eyes, made up his mind. He must have communicated his readiness to Jim in his expression, because Jim nodded approvingly. “Over my knees, Chief,” he said softly.

Now that it had come to the crunch, Blair moved like an automaton. He felt oddly calm, suddenly; his entire being focused on the moment. On the feel of Jim’s hands on his body as they guided him into place and helped position him, and the rasp of Jim’s clothes against his bare skin as Blair lay face down across his lap, with his hands extended out above his head along the couch. His groin throbbed in time to his heartbeat, the pulse loud in his ears, the twin sensations achieving a tempestuous synchronicity; then rising to a crescendo as Jim caught his cock between strong cotton covered thighs and trapped it there, holding him in place.

Strong, gentle hands stroked over Blair’s back and buttocks; calming him, soothing him. And Blair gradually relaxed, recognizing the inevitability of this, the necessity of it.

And, oh god, how much he wanted it.

“Thirty seven,” Jim murmured. “My hand to start with, then the belt. How many of each, Chief?”

Blair’s mouth went dry. He loved Jim’s hands, loved the physical and psychic connection those hands on his body created between them when they did this; but the belt was new territory. He wasn’t sure how much he could take.

“Chief?” Jim asked again, his hands continuing to soothe, to reassure. But he sounded a little unsure; and Blair didn’t want that. That wasn’t part of the fantasy.

“Twenty with your hand,” Blair answered decisively, hoping to get Jim back on track. “The rest with the belt.” He was proud of how confident he sounded.

There was a pause, and Blair knew that Jim was using his senses to determine whether Blair was really okay with this. Then, apparently satisfied, he said shortly, “Fine.” And, to Blair’s satisfaction, that tone was back; the masterful one that really turned him on.

Lying face down, his ass in the air, Blair smiled happily at the sound.

The hands running over Blair’s back moved into position, one at the small of his back, and the other running over his rump. “Count,” Jim ordered, and he began.

“One,” Blair said without hesitation. “Two.” The first few smacks were always light, allowing Blair time to get into the rhythm. “Three. Four.” They alternated between one cheek and the other, never in the same spot twice. “Five.” Blair’s breath hitched, the next hit stinging a little more. “Six. Seven. Eight.”

Between Jim’s thighs, Blair’s cock throbbed, the escalating impacts forcing it to rub against the abrasive material of Jim’s pants. “Nine,” he gasped out. “Ten.”

Jim stopped, his hand rubbing possessively over Blair’s heated skin, then creeping between his legs to fondle his balls. Blair breathed deeply, incredibly turned on, and desperately trying not to squirm.

After a moment, Jim’s hand moved back to Blair’s buttocks. “Next ten,” Jim informed him. “These’ll be harder. Count.”

Obediently, Blair did what he was told. “Eleven. Twelve.” Shit, Jim hadn’t been kidding. Blair gritted his teeth. “Thirteen. Ahh! Fourteen.” By the time the count had gotten to eighteen, he was gasping after every hit. “God! Nineteen. Twenty! Fuck!”

Jim rubbed the sting away, which had dulled, now he’d stopped, to a delicious burn. Blair drifted, enjoying the sensation, and only barely registered when Jim’s touch disappeared for a moment. Then the coolness of leather was insinuated between his legs, rubbing against his balls, and he jerked in shock - he’d forgotten about the belt.

“Be still.” Jim’s voice, resonant of command, registered in that deep place within Blair, and he froze immediately, ever obedient to that tone. The leather felt strange and, he had to admit, oddly erotic. He gradually relaxed, as he got used to the odd sensation. Jim moved it around, sliding it up the crease between Blair’s buttocks, and over the hot, recently spanked flesh, the feeling at once threatening and sensuous.

Blair barely registered the first hit, it was so soft. It was only when all movement ceased that Blair realized what had happened. For a second, he forgot where they were up to, lost in sensation as he was. Finally, he found the number. “Twenty one,” he said. And then Jim resumed.

Blair had expected the belt to hurt, and it did; but it was far from unbearable. Jim alternately hit Blair and rubbed the leather over his flesh, the contrasting feelings sometimes making it hard for Blair to keep count. His trapped dick throbbed almost unbearably, the amalgam of stinging and soothing merging into a sensuous, torturous mass of sensation.

They reached thirty, after what seemed like an eternity, and Jim stopped to once again rub and accentuate the delicious burn. Blair panted desperately, fighting for control. Somewhere along the line, he’d crossed the boundary where the edges between pain and pleasure merged.

But it wasn’t enough, damn it. Not _nearly_ enough. He wanted _more_.

Thank god, though, that Jim knew Blair, and his needs, very well. “Seven more,” Jim said, his voice breaking through the stupor of Blair’s arousal. “These will be hard. Don’t bother counting.” And, without any further warning, he brought the belt down. _Hard_.

“Ahh!” Shit, that hurt. The belt came down again, and then again; pounding in a straight line across both buttocks simultaneously. Freed from the need to keep count, Blair cried out instead, wordless sounds of pain, and feeling, and need.

It was too much, yet it wasn’t. He was trapped, his cock held in place between Jim’s hard thighs, the belt landing merciless hit after merciless hit on his vulnerable flesh, searing him, marking him, pounding him into oblivion.

Propelling him toward ecstasy.

After what seemed like an eternity, the strapping ceased; and Blair floated in a white-hot, timeless limbo, until something blunt and slippery poked at his asshole. Relaxing utterly, placing himself completely in Jim’s hands, he sighed in happiness as Jim’s finger pushed right in, and unerringly found his prostate. Gradually, he felt himself stretched deliciously, the growing pressure within him in exactly the right place, and at exactly the right intensity; stroking, pressing, sliding, increasing more, all the while his cock trapped, being squeezed, his ass burning, burning, ... and suddenly he was right _there_ , toes curling, lights flashing, oh God, thank you, thank you…

In Heaven.

***

Blair came back to himself slowly. He was lying on his side on the couch, covered in a soft, cotton sheet. Jim was sitting on the floor beside him, holding his hand. As Blair opened his eyes and saw him, Jim smiled gently. “Hey,” he said. “Happy birthday, Chief.”

“Hey,” Blair responded dreamily. He felt lethargic, utterly relaxed, and totally at peace.

Jim kissed him on the forehead. “Think you can make it up to bed, huh?” he asked.

“I doubt it, man.” Blair didn’t feel like moving at all – he was too comfortable.

“Don’t make me take my belt to you again,” Jim whispered mock-menacingly; and, to Blair’s surprise - wiped out as he was - he felt a rush of sudden, intense arousal. Not that he wanted that again right now – as his ass was beginning to remind him, its initial acquaintance with Jim’s belt had been more than enough to last him for some time. But that tone of voice? That got him every time.

So, obligingly, Blair shifted. Jim pulled him up, solicitous to a fault, and guided him toward the stairs. Blair still felt floaty, his spiking endorphins leaving him high as a kite, and he was grateful for the help – he didn’t think he’d have made it upstairs otherwise.

Once up there, Blair all but fell into the bed, curling up on his side instinctively. He was just beginning to drift off to sleep, when he felt Jim’s now naked body spoon into him from behind. Something hard prodded at his asshole, bigger, this time, than a finger; and Blair tried to rouse himself, to turn around, feeling a responsibility to reciprocate.

But Jim whispered, “Relax, Chief. Let me do the work.” Reassured that Jim was still in control, that Jim _wanted_ it to be like this, Blair settled down. He sighed happily as Jim carefully, relentlessly, penetrated him fully, the heat of the other man’s body against his back reigniting the fire in his ass. Then strong arms came around Blair to pull him back against Jim’s chest; cocooning him, surrounding him, sheltering him in the circle of their protection.

Blair drifted contentedly, enjoying the slow, tender lovemaking, as Jim moved in long, languorous strokes in and out of his body. Jim was always so careful with him at times like this, so considerate and loving, no matter how urgent his own desire for completion was. And his gentleness filled Blair with such an excess of gratitude and sense of being loved, that it brought tears to his eyes.

The intensity built slowly. Blair’s own arousal grew steadily, despite the fact that he’d honestly thought he had nothing left in him. Soon, he was gasping in time with Jim, the sensuousness of it all overwhelming him. His cock was grasped in a strong grip; Jim’s touch firm and slick, pre-come and lube creating a tight, slippery passage that Blair desperately wanted to thrust into. But he held off, letting Jim lead this dance. It was part of the deal, part of the ritual they’d created.

And waiting paid off. The gradual build up was maddening, delicious, and achingly perfect. And, at long last, the point came where Jim’s arms around him, the hard length thrusting inside him, the relentless, slippery grip on his cock, and the heat, the sweat, the breathing and the burning all combined to send Blair spinning off in a rush of fever, and light and oblivion, Jim whirling away with him in body, and mind, and spirit.

Into Nirvana.

***

Blair was sleeping now, utterly sated in Jim’s arms.

Gazing fondly at his lover of six years, and his friend of ten - so strong, so brave, and so beloved - Jim placed a tender kiss on Blair’s forehead, and gently stroked back a lock of long, dark hair. “I love you,” he whispered. “So damned much. Happy birthday, Blair.”

Feeling adoration so profound it took his breath away, Jim pulled Blair closer and closed his eyes; contentedly following his lover – just as he would follow him anywhere – into slumber.

 


End file.
